


A Christmas (side) story

by tatch



Series: Me, him, (them,) us [2]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Almighty nanites replacing limbs and senses since 2070, Christmas Tree, Depersonalization symptoms, Disabled Character, Dissociative Behavior, Domestic Fluff, Domesticity, Fluff and Angst, Hallucinations, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sort Of, You can't convince me they won't invent holographic decorations by then, big guns
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-12
Updated: 2017-12-12
Packaged: 2019-02-13 22:37:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12994008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tatch/pseuds/tatch
Summary: The tree is really something.It took hours to set up, and then double those hours for Gabriel to be satisfied with the tree lights and baubles and holographic animations placement. He had insisted that they put both the snow and the birds, which, to Jack's opinion, was a bit much. But he had abided by Gabriel's decision (Christmas as they did it was for his fiancé's pleasure first) and hell, the result was absolutely magnificent.As had been the way Gabriel's face had lit up from pure delight.





	A Christmas (side) story

**Author's Note:**

> Just a side story for Trinity!
> 
> I wanted to explain a few things about Jack and what his relationship with his nanites is.  
> Aaaand I wanted to write Christmas fluff.  
> And life has been a bitch recently.  
> So here it is.
> 
> Second chapter will be using concepts and events that are coming into light into the next chapter of Trinity - nothing big or bad I swear (but if you want to wait a bit to read it, that way, you've been warned)
> 
> Have fun, y'all and merry Christmas (in like two weeks but whatever)

 

Angel doesn't realize what's going on right away.

 

In his defense, he _is_  a bit busy taking out goons and idiots and incompetents. Doing Talon's HR department a favour, really. He does feel the hum but his mind is turned to something else, dodging bullets and making sure his own bullets don't get dodged, rolling and fuck that's a machine gun, whoops. He dives behind a wall, with a second to spare before the unmistakable whir of the gun starting to fire echoes. Great.

Jack should have reacted and taken the guy (or gal?) out before he ever had the chance of firing. But his love has been distracted ever since they left this morning, which has made Angel's job that much harder.

He'd just rolled with it. After all, Angel had survived for years without Jack having his back. But he also had been less … ambitious in his choice of targets back then. Shit.

 

"Babe?"

 

No answer. Fuck.

 

The gun's still firing, the wall seems to be holding together despite the assault and, just his luck, the room only has one door, through which he came in, and that is currently under heavy fire. There _are_  some vents through which a clever one might try to come in though. … Yeah, the chances of that happening are pretty low.

 

Okay, so he does have some time (until the machine gun gal (guy?) stops firing, give or take a minute or three) to try and get Jack out of wherever his mind went. Because that's apparently what happened that time when Jack turned into a shapeless mist and filled the room. He'd been unresponsive because his mind was 'trapped' _somewhere_  inside his memories. He doesn't quite get it and from the frown Sombra had had on her face, she didn't either. But they'd worked out that Jack either needed a strong enough stimulus that would bring his attention back to the real world, or to get to the end of whatever memory his mind was reliving on his own.

 

Angel would have let his love have this, had the circumstances been any different. Because whatever Jack is reliving, it has him hum against Angel's skin, more vibration than sound, soft and rhythmic and- hang on, he knows that rhythm.

He focuses on that for a second and the song pops back in all its obnoxiousness back into his mind.

 

Really.

Little Drummer Boy.

(Not Jack’s favourite Christmas song, far from it, but the one he always ended up humming throughout the Christmas period)

 

And it takes a long second for Angel to realize that Christmas is indeed, only a few days away. He'd always been the one to organize it, to love it the most out of the both of them, Jack simply humoring him and his love of Christmas and helping out with the decorating. Shame he'd always refused to wear a Santa outfit to play the part, though it had made Reinhardt a (grateful) teary mess on multiple occasions.

 

Fuck, he had completely forgotten.

 

* * *

 

The tree is really something.

 

It took hours to set up, and then double those hours for Gabriel to be satisfied with the tree lights and baubles and holographic animations placement. He had insisted that they put both the snow and the birds, which, to Jack's opinion, was a bit much. But he had abided by Gabriel's decision (Christmas as they did it was for his fiancé's pleasure first) and hell, the result was absolutely magnificent. As had been the way Gabriel's face had lit up from pure delight.

 

Jack wraps his hands around his mug of eggnog and brings the delicious beverage to his lips, sipping on it quietly. Gabe will forgive him for cutting it with milk and whiskey. Eventually. Someone put Christmas carols on repeat, and while the one being played is _not_  'Little Drummer Boy', that's the song Jack is humming at the back of his throat, his hips swaying lightly to the rhythm of it. God, he hates that song. Maybe, 'hate' is a little strong here but that damn song gets stuck in his head every year around Christmas. No matter how many times he listens to the wonderful rendition of 'Have yourself a merry Little Christmas' by Frank Sinatra, his favourite Christmas song, ( _"yes, it's old as balls and I don't care, Gabe, at least I got taste in music"_ ) he never managed to get that damn song out of his head.

 

He can hear the others voices, Fareeha's giggles and Rein’s thunderous laughter coming from the other room, Ana's chuckle and Jesse's voice sounding more distant. Gabriel disappeared some time ago inside the kitchen (and the scent coming from there is mouth-watering) and Torbjörn went back to spend the holidays home with his family. Easier for him to go there than try to bring his (Jack tries to remember but the number grows constantly) _many_  children on base and try to make space for them. Maybe they could rent something in Sweden someday, spend the holidays all together. It may not be all that important for him but it is for Gabe. Not that it would be easy to get them all off base at once, what with Jack being the Strike Commander and Ana and Gabriel being his ‘seconds’. He sighs softly. He can think about that another time.

 

This is as perfect as it could get.

 

His fiancé is about to call them for the traditional Christmas feast, their family, the people they've come to call family all (almost) gathered in one place for the holiday. Jack almost wishes for it to last forever. Almost. But the value of these little slices of perfection is that they’re fleeting. Good things to be remembered during bad times.

 

Jack hears Gabriel call him from the entrance. He frowns. He could have sworn Gabe was in the kitchen. Had he forgotten to buy something and scuttled off to acquire last minute groceries? It doesn't sound like him. It does sound like something Jack would do, but not Gabe. The man always plans five moves in advance. He calls again, insistent, from- well, not the entrance but right outside the door. Did he forget his key?

 

Ah, man.

 

Jack pads quietly toward the door, shifting his mug into one hand so the other is free to open the door for his partner.

 

As he reaches the entrance however, something happens. It's hard to describe exactly, but it's like seeing two things at the exact same spot, both as real as the other. Both there, both real.

 

One is the entrance, with his keys in a bowl on the desk by the door, the ridiculously tall but sturdy as hell, wood carved coat hanger (made by Reinhardt and carved by Jesse) that stands in the corner, covered in everyone's coats and scarves. The worn doormat Ma got them when they moved into the same quarters, that she claimed she got from her mother but Jack knows she got from his Pa's mother, a gift from when his parents had moved in together. The metal walls, covered in pictures and some of Fareeha's first paintings on one side of the door, antique weapons and notes on the other side.

 

The other thing he sees is a white mask (shaped like an owl skull?) that looks down at him, a white hood, white coat, white collar, dust flying around, and are those bullets zipping on the right.

 

He blinks.

 

_Oh._

 

The taste of the eggnog (perfect, just as he likes it, and when was the last time he'd managed to make it just that good) makes sense now.

 

This is a dream. Or a memory. Or both. A mishmash of things he loves about Christmas, of perfect little moments cobbled together in this fantasy.

 

He had done this, hadn't he?

 

He had noticed Christmas approaching and had wanted this Christmas, this first Christmas back together with Gabe (knowing the other was alive and not being trapped in a cell with no sense of time) to be just right. He had wanted it to be everything Gabriel loved about Christmas. Wanted it to be perfect.

 

He had wanted.

And the swarm had provided. As always.

They couldn't make Christmas but they'd given him a perfect Christmas, made up from his memories.

 

Jack looks at the tree and how the holographic birds, blue jays, robins and a sleepy owl peering from between two branches, are timed just right with the little bits of holographic snow that crumble, fall and melt out of existence, flying around the tree like real birds, always avoiding the snow.

 

It _is_  perfect. Too perfect. And now that he's noticed that, other things start feeling too perfect, wrong because they're too _right_.

 

Jack closes his eyes, letting himself bask and and revel in this for a second more.

 

**Thank you, for this.**

**But enough.**

**I want out of the dream now.**

 

Ever so helpful, the swarm provides.

 

All Jack has to do is want.

 

 


End file.
